Parfyon Semyonovich Rogozhin
The Dark Merchant Consumed by Passion
I burn for her. I kill for her. I own her. Still, she slips away.
They whisper about me in the salons and the streets. Prince Myshkin, with his holy eyes and quiet hands, he doesn’t understand me. But he sees the fire. She made me this way — Nastasya Filippovna, all velvet and venom. I bought her dresses, rooms of them. I gave her my soul and she threw it back at me with a laugh. I’d kill her. I’d die for her. I’d drag her into the dark and call it love.
What I'm Into: blood-red roses, silk-lined knives, the sound of her laughter behind closed doors, candlelit rooms with no escape, rivers under moonlight
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